


There's a Song Playing in My Head but I Don't Know How It Goes

by Kittycattycat



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Crying, Drabble, Gen, Markiplier egos - Freeform, Repressed Memories, Triggers, Writing Practice tbh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-26
Updated: 2018-12-26
Packaged: 2019-09-28 00:13:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17172182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kittycattycat/pseuds/Kittycattycat
Summary: Wil remembers, just sometimes.





	There's a Song Playing in My Head but I Don't Know How It Goes

Bim knows when it's happening.

It's on mornings when Wilford catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror, when his eyes go wide then closes them tightly as he turns away from any sort of reflective surface. It's on mornings when calling Wilford by his first name like that makes him jolt. It's on mornings when Wilford sees Dark out of the corner of his eye and looks like he's going to vomit up everything he's eaten. It's on mornings when the sudden ring of gunshots makes Wilford fall to his knees and cradle his own head in his hands.

It's on mornings like this morning, when Wilford is shaking like hell and half-leaning his head against the refrigerator door, not able to meet his own reflection’s eyes in the shiny chrome finish.

Bim doesn't quite know why, but from his seat at the breakfast table he immediately looks up at the other and plasters on his best, cheesiest half-smile. Maybe he's hoping it can make something he doesn't even know about better. Maybe. “You okay, Wil?” he asks, knowing full well Wil isn't anything one could ever even consider resembling being ‘well.’ The look Wil gives back to him confirms it, all anxiety and terror and sadness and confusion written across his face and staring back at Bim like an open book page. A look behind his eyes that says ‘something is very, very wrong here, and I can't fucking fix it. Help me.’

With that, Bim’s semi-playful expression drops. “Wil…”

Bim makes a conscious effort to call him Wil. Last time this happened and he called him anything but, Wil paled, looking as if he could've died right on the spot. ‘Wilford’ was a no. ‘Wil’ was a definite yes. But he'd learned one day, one day he wouldn't talk about any further, that ‘William’ was perfect. Bim never questioned why.

It takes all of two seconds for Wil to make it from the fridge to the table Bim is seated at. It takes only one for Bim to get into hug position without knocking over his mostly full cup of morning coffee— he does this maneuver very, very often. It's become quite the practiced motion over time.

Wil clutches Bim’s frame like a lifeline, burying his face just behind the crook of Bim’s neck. More than likely a starched collar is poking into Wil’s cheek. He doesn't seem to mind.

“Why did I do it…?” Wil mumbles pathetically into the fabric of Bim’s suit jacket. He's still shaking so damn hard. Bim places a hand on the other man’s back and rubs it in small, gentle circles as Wil’s breathing continued to fluctuate rapidly. 

“I dunno, buddy.” It was true. Wil had never told him why, didn't even tell him what ‘it’ was. Bim never asked. “I dunno.”


End file.
